Resonant Abyss Page 2

  “Got it,” I said. “I look forward to doing business with you, Mr. Pelmatier. Oh, and one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My boss really doesn’t like pilots who drink on the job. But trust me when I say that you’ll be rewarded in ways you can hardly fathom if you comply.”

  Victor leaned across the bar to look around me. He was ogling Rachel. “Now you’re talking,” Victor said.

  “Wait, her? No, no—”

  “If it keeps him sober, let’s roll with it,” Rachel said in my comm.

  “No way,” I said, turning away from Victor. “Then he’s going to think I work for you.”

  “And that’s a problem because?”

  I leaned in close. “I can see now that this was all a mistake. You’re having too much fun with these roles.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and went back to sipping her newly acquired whiskey sour. “What’s life without a little fun?”

  “How soon you think you’ll need me?” Victor said from behind me.

  “Hard to say,” I replied over my shoulder. “All depends on how much fun my boss is having. Why don’t you go sober up and make sure Deloris is ready by week’s end.”

  “So soon?”

  “And there’s a five-thousand credit bonus in it for you if she is.”

  Victor pushed himself away from the bar, his feet kicking a few empty beer bottles on the floor. “I’ll have her ready to fly for you, mister… say, what’s your name?”

  “Just call me Hammer.” I crossed my arms.

  “Okay then, Mr. Hammer,” Victor replied. His eyes went a little wide as he repeated the moniker. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “You do that.”

  I turned back to Rachel as Victor stumbled toward the exit. She had an eyebrow raised.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Just call me Hammer?”

  “I felt like he needed some motivation. Names are great ways to convey power.”

  “Hammer, though?”

  “Hey, at least it’s better than Scarlett Mason.”

  “You wish,” she said, standing abruptly. “At least Scarlett has a legitimate backstory, thanks to Lars.” She removed her coat and handed it to me. “Would you excuse me, Hammer? I have actual work to do.” Rachel brushed past me and carried her drink across the dance floor toward a private seating area blocked by two thugs.

  “Hey, Lars?” I said over comms, getting up to follow her.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s give Hammer a fun backstory.”

  “Noted, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rachel paused to address the foremost bouncer. “Scarlett Mason to see Falco,” she said, leaning toward the man, cupping her mouth so he could hear her over the volume of the music. The burly man nodded, glanced at me, and then walked back toward a curtain.

  “You good?” I asked Rachel.

  She nodded, giving me a quiet, “Mm-hmm. You?”

  “Yup.”

  “Miss Mason?” said the bouncer as he emerged from the curtain. “Mr. Falco will see you now.”

  “He comes with me,” Rachel said, thumbing my way. The bouncer nodded in assent. Then he frisked us, took our pistols, and led us into the darkness.

  2

  “Well, well, well,” the man called Falco said as Rachel walked into his private lounge. “Who do we have here?”

  Surprisingly, the music was considerably less oppressive, which was a nice change, but the lighting was dimmer. I didn’t like that because I had to remove my shades. Concealing eye movements was an easy way to keep an enemy off balance. But I also didn’t like it because it made it harder to catch items that could spell disaster for an undercover operation—things like concealed weapons, hidden figures, and covert communications such as hand signals or subtle head gestures.

  “Mr. Falco, my name is Scarlett Mason,” Rachel said, offering her hand.

  Falco sat upright and took her hand. His black hair masked his lips as they pressed into the top of Rachel’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Scarlett the Sensation of Liberation.”

  If Rachel bristled at the new nickname, she didn’t show it. “I’m doing some shopping and I heard you were the man to speak to,” she said, and then took a sip of her drink.

  “Shopping? My, my, my, I do like the way you talk, SSL.”

  My gods, did he just make an acronym of her new nickname? What a douchebag.

  “Please, have a seat anywhere you like.”

  Rachel took a seat in a red leather chair while I stood over her shoulder, channeling my years as a police officer in hopes of being somewhat intimidating.

  Falco was the gatekeeper for where we were headed next—where Oragga suspected our first cache of artifacts was waiting. The only way to get close to the artifact’s location was to get an appointment with a certain mine owner, and the only person who made those appointments was this reject of the galaxy.

  “So, tell me,” Falco said. “What brings you to Falco exactly?”

  We’re talking in third person now?

  “I’m looking for someone who deals in rare minerals,” Rachel said. “Word on the street is that you’re the man to see.”

  “Oh, I’m always the man to see,” he said. “And who, pray tell, supplied you with my name, might I ask?”

  Rachel set her drink down on the table. Then she looked him in the eye. What she said next had been well crafted by Lars, based on Oragga’s extensive database. “Mink sent me.”

  “Mink?” Falco hesitated. “And how is he doing these days?”

  This was Falco’s test, as every smart fence had one. You didn’t get anywhere in the underworld without being cautious. In fact, I was pretty sure his club’s cameras had already scanned us and were searching for hits on the dark net. Thanks to Lars, Falco’s hackers would find enough goods to keep them busy for quite a while—and to keep Falco happy.

  Rachel stood up suddenly and looked at me. “Hammer, we’re done here.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Falco said, hands up in a placating gesture. “What’s the matter?”

  “You’re not Falco.”

  “Falco is not Falco?” he asked, placing his hands over his heart.

  “Mink isn’t a man,” Rachel said.

  “She’s a gorgeous woman. Who, it seems, has taken enough of a liking to you that she sent you my way. Come back,” Falco said, gesturing to the chair. “It was only a test. Like you, I need to make sure that everyone I deal with is who they say they are.”

  Rachel hesitated—all an act.

  “I tire quickly of false leadings, Falco,” Rachel said.

  “Oh, as do I, love. As do I.”

  “I need someone who can move myst,” Rachel said.

  “Myst?” Falco said, sitting upright. “How much we talkin’?”

  “As much as I can get.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that, love.”

  “Exclusive distribution.”

  Falco’s eyebrows went up. Then he started shaking his head. “Sorry, love. I can’t help you.”

  “Can’t help me? Or won’t help me? Because those are two very different things.”

  Falco leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Miss Mason, I understand that you may have a lot of credits. Your file certainly implies that you do. But the man you want to speak to… well, he doesn’t take too kindly to guys wanting to break up his existing distribution channels.”

  “Then it’s his lucky day.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m not a guy.”

  Falco looked away, smiling to himself. “Fair point.” He relaxed a little, but this wasn’t over. “Exclusivity? You have the leverage for exclusive rights?” Falco leaned forward, chuckling. “I just don’t think you have the means to move that much myst.”

  “How many distributors are there? Five? Six?” Rachel took a sip of her whisky sour. “And how much of that pie do you see, Falco?” She let the qu
estion hang in the air. The man stared at her. “I bet you have some movers that run for one of those distributors. Pays you enough to keep this place open, maybe a few others like it. Which, there’s nothing wrong with”—Rachel hesitated, eyeing the back room with some amount of disdain–“with this. But why settle? If I control distribution, well then, I don’t think I need to tell you what the monthly commission is on that.”

  Falco pursed his lips, tapped them with a finger, then said, “Miss Mason, I’m sorry but—”

  “Unfortunately for you, Mr. Falco,” Rachel said, her words strong and deliberate. “You’ve heard my business plan. And I don’t believe in non-disclosure agreements, at least not the traditional sort. So, if you turn this down”—Rachel sighed, then set her drink on the table—“you will regret it for the rest of your life.” She cocked her head to one side. “As short as that life may be.”

  Damn, she has balls.

  “I really don’t think you’re the one to be threatening me right now,” Falco said, bristling toward Rachel.

  “Why not?” Rachel raised her hands. “I’m not the one who’s going to die in ninety seconds.”

  Falco hesitated, then laughed out loud. He pointed to the two bouncers at the doors. “You hear that, boys? This one’s a real stitch.” The two guards gave half-hearted laughs, drawing their coats back to reveal their firearms.

  I honestly had no idea what Rachel was up to, but I was growing more uncomfortable by the second. For her part, however, Rachel seemed completely in control. “Mr. Falco,” she said. “I’d like to remind you that you now have sixty-seven seconds of life remaining.”

  “And how do you figure that?”

  “Because”—she pointed to the table—“I poisoned your drink when we shook hands. You’ll notice some of the powder still on the table.”

  Falco’s eyes darted to a trace of white powder on the shiny surface near his drink.

  “It will be painless, I can assure you,” said Rachel. “But still effective for my purposes.”

  Damn, she’s good. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I detected a hint of panic behind Falco’s eyes. “I’m not buying it,” he said, but his tone was less than convincing.

  “You don’t have to. You’ll be plenty convinced when your heart stops in forty-seconds.”

  “You little bitch,” Falco said. He gestured to his guards, who then drew their weapons on us.

  “Easy, Mr. Falco. I do have an antidote.” She produced a small pill from inside her coat. When the hells had she come up with this stunt?

  “Shoot her and take it,” Falco ordered. My chest holster felt so much lighter without my pistol in it—Falco’s guards had frisked Rachel and I thoroughly.

  “Not so fast,” she said, placing the pill between her teeth. Her speech was hindered by the pill’s presence, but it helped get her point across. “I’ll swallow it before their bullets kill me. And not even you will have enough time to dig it out of my stomach before your time runs out.”

  Falco stared at her. A droplet of sweat slid down his temple. She has him! I could hardly believe it.

  “Fifteen seconds, Mr. Falco,” Rachel said through the pill.

  Falco stood up and thrust out his hand. “Give me the pill, you crazy bitch!”

  “We have a deal then?”

  “Yes! We have a deal!”

  Rachel removed the pill from her mouth and handed it to him. “You’ll want to chew.”

  Falco ground the pill between his teeth, swallowed, and then downed the rest of his drink. “Did it work?”

  Rachel waited. After a few seconds, she said, “Looks like it did. Now, please take a seat.”

  Falco was visibly shaken and tried his best to regain control of the room despite it shifting in Rachel’s favor. He sat and smoothed his shirt. “The man you want is Ozzie.”

  I thought I saw Rachel’s shoulders tighten when Falco said Ozzie’s name.

  “He’s in the Tiberian system, runs the mines on Meldorn. It’s not hard to find. Slip gap points will get you there in two days. I’ll inform his personal assistant that you’ll be on your way.”

  “You see?” Rachel said, standing up. “That wasn’t so hard. Congratulations, Mr. Falco. You just became a very wealthy man.”

  Rachel turned on her heel and said, “Come along, Hammer. We have a ship to catch.”

  As we walked across the dance floor toward the exit, I noticed two men at a table who seemed out of place. They avoided eye contact with me and seemed overly engaged in conversation with each other. They also lacked drinks, and their coats were a little too bulky in places. Based on their thug-like builds, it was safe to say they weren’t here for the dancing.

  “You okay?” Rachel asked. She must have noticed my concern.

  “Something’s off,” I said.

  “Falco?”

  “Nah,” I said, leading us off the dance floor. “He wants your commission. I could hear it in his voice.”

  “Then what? You think Victor was a plant?”

  “No way,” I said, moving toward the door. “No actor is that good, not even you. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  Just as we were about to exit, the doors slid apart and two men planted their feet, blocking the way out. I stopped, holding my arm up to block Rachel, and sized them up. They wore street clothes but were too well-groomed and muscular to be here for the drinks and dancing. Plus, I was pretty sure the bulges underneath their jackets weren’t liquor bottles.

  “Back up,” I said to Rachel.

  “Negative,” she replied. She had her back to me and was watching two more goons approach us—the ones from the table.

  “If they draw, we defend ourselves and then look for cover,” I said.

  “See, that’s one of the things you’re going to have to change about yourself, Flint,” Rachel said.

  “What’s that?”

  “In this business, you draw first.” And with that, Rachel reached under her dress and withdrew two pistols from thigh holsters.

  3

  Rachel aimed both pistols as the men closed on our flanks, arms outstretched. She fired, alternating between the two aggressors, and struck them each in the chest.

  No sooner had her shots rang out than the men in front of me stepped through the doorway and drew their weapons. But instead of aiming at Rachel, they both aimed at me, which—as I dove for cover behind a half wall—seemed like an odd turn of events. Rachel was the obvious threat at the moment, not me.

  Bullets chewed into the short wall behind my back and showered me with debris. I finally got my weapon out and waited for a break in the fire. When it came, I leaned out sideways, keeping low, and fired on both men, striking them center mass. I watched, hoping they’d drop. Instead, they only stumbled backward a few steps. They wore some kind of armor. Even though we were outfitted with firearms from Oragga’s custom armory, these men weren’t going to go down easy.

  I glanced at Rachel who’d taken cover behind a support column near the bar. People yelled and screamed as they ran through the club. Muzzle flashes lit up the room as gunshots competed for attention in the music-laden soundscape. More bullets showered my position. Again, however, Rachel was left alone.

  I stole a glance to see two of the men angle toward her, weapons lowered. “They want you alive,” I said to Rachel over comms. No sooner had I spoken than gunfire sprayed the tables and chairs next to me.

  “And I’m pretty sure they want you dead,” Rachel replied.

  “Is it that obvious?” I asked.

  There was another break in the assault. I nodded at Rachel, then we both leaned into the open, taking aim at our nearest assailants, and fired. This time, however, I wasn’t going for center mass—I was going for headshots. It was way harder to do than the holo movies made it look, mind you. But if you’d put enough rounds down range, which was something only paid law enforcement and military types ever had the luxury of, it wasn’t impossible. In fact, given how close these goons had
gotten to us, it was hard to miss.

  I squeezed the first round at thug number one. The bullet exited the back of his skull in a spray of fine mist that glinted in a moving light from over the dance floor. His body fell backward, arms trailing like streamers. Before the man hit the floor, I fired on thug number two, coring a hole in the side of his head. Oddly, the man was alive enough to speak something, but the words were garbled. His hand clenched, pinning his weapon’s trigger down.

  Rounds whizzed around the bar. The firearm acted as if it was on the end of a rope, firing on full-auto. Patrons screamed louder as they ducked for cover, trying to get to the exits. I noticed several of them nursing wounds, and more than one person lay on the ground, motionless. Damn.

  The goon count was two down, two to go.

  “You care to help us, Miss Mason?” I said to Rachel as I pulled back behind the wall. The two remaining thugs saw their downed friends and opened fire on me.

  “You seem to be doing just fine, Hammer,” Rachel replied.

  I scooted further behind the wall as the men cut the angle toward my position. “Hey, Lars?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You like the nickname Hammer, don’t you?”

  “I am an artificial intelligence, sir. Therefore, I am devoid of—”

  “Personal preference or feelings,” I said, finishing for him. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I pulled my feet up as a line of bullets traced their way a few centimeters from them along the floor. I pushed my pistol out and fired two blind shots just to make the enforcers think twice. Then I looked over at Rachel to see her still casually resting against her column.

  “Gods, woman. You gonna get in this fight any time soon?” I asked, now for the second time.

  “So, you need my help?”

  “Possibly.” More rounds peppered my position. The thugs had diverted from Rachel and moved closer to me. A lot closer. And that’s when I realized this was exactly what she’d been waiting for.

  Rachel stepped from her cover, pistols forward, and fired two rounds at the same time. The combined muzzle flashes washed her face in bright white light. One bullet severed thug number three’s spine at the base of the neck and exited through his front teeth. The other round passed through thug number four’s head and hit the far wall, taking a handful of brain matter with it. Both men fell toward me, impacting the ground at the same time.